


Let Your Heart Be Light

by trashyeggroll



Series: Worth the Fall (ThunderGrace Boxing AU) [6]
Category: Black Lightning (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, AgentArias, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Family Fluff, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, SuperCorp, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, poor communication, thundergrace - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: Anissa's insecurity almost ruins her Christmas surprise, but it turns out to be the gift she'd never allowed herself to hope for.
Relationships: Grace Choi/Anissa Pierce
Series: Worth the Fall (ThunderGrace Boxing AU) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1395292
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37





	Let Your Heart Be Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm trashyeggroll, and I love cishet men behaving decently. 
> 
> If you squint really hard, you'll see the vastly stretched references to the 12 days of Christmas in this fic.

_ December 13 _

Anissa doesn’t mind David Shi, Hanh’s father. She even kind of likes him, admittedly. He’s friendly, has never troubled them about custody, and despite not paying a penny in child support, Anissa and Grace wholeheartedly trust him with their daughter. 

So when Grace asked if it was all right for David to join them for Christmas in New Orleans, Anissa hadn’t thought much of it before saying  _ yes, of course. _ Her first thought had been that Hanh would probably really like that—the nine-year-old had reached the age that she was starting to ask more complex questions about how her family worked, and why it didn’t quite look like her friends’ families. She saw less of her dad now that she was in school, with the quarterly visits swapped out for six weeks in the summer and the usual alternating special occasions, birthdays and holidays, and it’d been years since her three parents spent any amount of time together, just by virtue of their very busy, very separate lives.

But as the holiday season shifted into the full tilt madness between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the #1 pound for pound female boxer in the world found herself less sure of her initial flip attitude towards David’s visit.

It’s twelve days until Christmas, and the Louis Armstrong International Airport is bursting at the seams with frustrated, tired travellers as the Washington-Choi family waits for David Shi in the arrivals area. Four-year-old Jefferson had fallen asleep in the car, and he’s still dozing and drooling a bit on Anissa’s shoulder as she holds him. He’s definitely getting too big for this, but his weight and warmth is quietly comforting as Anissa watches the bustling crowds. Hanh’s pure, joyful smile of anticipation helps, too, as she stands next to Grace, clutching her hand tightly. The truth is, she’d weather any personal discomfort to see an expression like that on her children's faces. 

After what seems like a small eternity, David finally turns the corner exiting the terminal, and Grace has to stop Hanh from running down the “do not enter” security area to greet him. They’ve known each other for almost a decade, and Anissa has, literally, never seen David Shi in anything other than cargo shorts and a band t-shirt, so it’s a little strange to see him walking towards them wearing dark-wash jeans and a collared shirt.  _ Not even cargo pants. _

When he passes the security area and Grace lets go of her hand, Hanh fairly sprints to her father, deftly dodging suitcases and people, and knocks him back a few steps with the force of her leaping hug. Grace follows while Anissa waits in place, and she has to swallow against a lump in her throat as she watches all three of them embrace, her wife’s hand lingering innocently, but affectionately, on David’s arm as they trade greetings. The three of them certainly  _ look _ like an adorable little family as they walk back towards Anissa and Jefferson.

The boxer puts on her best smile, not sure how effective it is, when they reach them. “Hey, D—sorry, I’d hug you, but little man…” 

Grinning broadly back at her, David nods and mimes a half-hug towards her anyway. His long black hair is neatly pulled back into his usual bun, and his bushy beard looks particularly well-oiled, even in the fluorescent lights. “All good. Wouldn’t mind a nap myself right now, but I’m excited to officially meet the dude. I feel like I already know him from everything Hanh has told me.”

As if sensing he’s being discussed, Jefferson grumbles and wriggles against Anissa’s chest, and she nods up at their visitor. She rubs her son’s back until he settles again. “I’m just glad they’re not old enough to get into knockdown fights yet.”

“Yet,” laughs the musician, putting his own hand on Hanh’s shoulder as they move towards the baggage claim carousel. She’s practically vibrating with happiness, rattling off nonlinear stories about her friends and school. 

David grabs his rolling suitcase from the baggage claim, and then they pile into the family SUV, Grace in the back between the kids’ safety seats and David in the passenger next to Anissa. 

“Okay,” Grace begins as soon as they pull onto the highway. “Anissa and I still have some present shopping to do. Can you watch both the kids tomorrow?”

“Of course. My time is yours, got no plans of my own.” David looks back at the second row’s occupants. “And since you’re asking, I’d like an Apple Watch, lah.”

“Ha, ha,” deadpans Grace before chuckling.

“Starving artist!” he protests, glancing at Anissa with his own sideways grin.

She returns a stiff smile and drums her fingers on the steering wheel. 

_ December 14 _

Hanh’s lost both her top and bottom sets of front two teeth, with a comically empty gap still in the bottom row. One of her incisors had been hanging on by a thread for a couple days, but the kid had refused to let Grace or Anissa help her pull it… instead constantly worrying the spot with her tongue, which was just one of those sensory things that made Anissa’s skin crawl, not that she said anything to her daughter. 

For four hours, the boxer and the artist had battled holiday shopping crowds and traffic to finish off the items on their lists, and by the time they piled everything in the SUV to go home, both women were exhausted, hungry, and a bit cranky. They leave the bags in the trunk, to be unloaded when the kids were asleep, and practically limp into the house. 

As soon as she opens the door, Anissa hears a peculiar buzzing, but as her ears adjust, she realizes the sounds are actually notes from a harmonica, something bluesy and improvised, along with intermittent, off-beat clapping.  _ That _ had to be Jefferson, bless his rhythm-lacking heart. 

They find the kids and David in the living room. Hanh and Jefferson are sitting next to him, watching in awe as he plays the little silver instrument with flourish. They’re so enthralled, in fact, that no one notices Anissa and Grace enter the room until the musician looks up and stops. 

“Ma, did you hear that?” yells her son, shooting off the couch.

“I did,” she laughs as he latches onto her legs. “David’s got some soul, huh?”

“And  _ look!” _ Hanh shoots them a toothy smile—or, more accurately, a smile suddenly lacking in another tooth, with the nine-year-old sticking her tongue through the space. 

“Finally!” laughs Grace as she moves past Anissa, examining their daughter’s teeth closely. “I think the Tooth Fairy almost gave up on this one.”

“Ba pulled it for me,” announces Hanh with a proud lift to her chin.

Anissa’s spine tightens, and she looks down at Jefferson to avoid making a face, only to see him shoot away from her and back to David, pressing his palms together as he begs the musician to keep playing the harmonica. 

Even Bingo seems to be thumping his tail along to the tune, his mouth open in his wide pittie smile, and Anissa whispers  _ traitor _ at him with a shake of her head. 

_ December 15 _

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Gambi’s yelling, frustrated, as Anissa wheels away from her afternoon sparring partner, Lana Lang, who spits a glob of blood off the side of the ring and pins Anissa with an equally annoyed glare. 

“Sorry,” mutters the champ, still bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“We said we’re not doing real hits today,” continues the old trainer. “What’s going on with you, kid?”

“Just got some energy to burn.” 

She doesn’t let her eyes dart over to where her entire family is listening to David Shi tell a story over on the bleachers—he’d excitedly asked if he could watch a training day, but hadn’t spent much more than a few minutes watching. She doesn’t, but Gambi seems to connect the dots anyway, his milky eyes darting between the group and his fighter. 

“Malia, tag in,” barks the trainer, and Lana ducks the ropes while Anissa’s original sparring partner and best friend climbs onto the mat. The years have ended Malia’s professional career, but her experience in the ring and deep knowledge of Anissa’s style keeps her as one of the most valuable members of Thunder’s team. 

Which is to say, she’s the only sparring partner these days that still occasionally gives Anissa a split lip or black eye. 

“This isn’t boot camp,” Gambi goes on, in his ‘disappointed in you’ tone. “This isn’t bachelor apartments and sleeping on my couch. Get it together.” 

Shifting her feet, Anissa’s just about to throw something genius-level clever back at him, but instead, she catches a glove square in the jaw, and Malia  _ tsks _ her. “I see you practically green over there.”

“What? I’m not—“ Anissa ducks another combo and manages to shove the other fighter away. “Stop talking and fight.”

Malia throws back the words in a mocking tone, and when the champ drops her hands to complain to Gambi, her best friend  _ wollops _ her in the side. “Aht-aht-aht, bell didn’t ring, wodie.”

They’ve been dancing the fine line of affection and beating the shit out of each other long enough that Anissa easily rejects the bait, lifting her gloves again and putting Malia through a brutal set of combinations. It ends on a flourishing cross that finally knocks the older fighter to one knee, and Anissa steps back to catch her breath. 

This time, she doesn’t stop her eyes from wandering back over to the bleachers. Hanh and Jefferson are gone, probably raiding Lala’s desk drawer for candy, but Grace is looking at something on David’s phone, and they’re smiling and speaking in hushed tones, glancing furtively at each other and—

If she hadn’t been wearing headgear, the strike Malia lands against the side of her head might’ve sent her to the mat. As is, Anissa teeters into the ropes, and then the bell rings—and perhaps not entirely unrelated to the moment prior—the champ spits out her mouthguard and unleashes on Malia, “Fuck you, Mali.”

“Fuck  _ me?” _

“Oh, shit,” she hears Lala sigh from the ropes.

“Yeah, fuck you, and I’m done with this today. It’s bullshit, anyway.”

“Aye, I mean, you’re still cutting my checks, so it’s all the same to me,” sneers Lala, putting out a hand to stop her from leaving. “Who shit in your breakfast?” Anissa glares at him, and is just about to slap his hand away when he continues, “That’s your little girl’s daddy, right?”

“That’s none of your business,” she sniffs, low so only Lala can hear. 

“All right.” Lala had never been one to press. Sometimes, Anissa needed that. “Well, if you can’t play nice, I’m gonna need fifty box jumps before your pouting ass hits the shower. Get to it.” 

Anissa throws her gloves to the ground as she stalks away from the ring. 

_ December 16 _

Anissa’s not sure if she’s finally taken too many hits to the head, or if there really  _ is _ something going on under her own roof. 

She’d been on the hunt for Scotch tape, fussing over a papercut on her thumb as she carelessly opened the door to her office. The fighter had made it four steps into the room before she stopped, sensing something was amiss, and she’d raised her eyes to see Grace and David standing there, looking… awkward. 

They’d offered weak excuses about needing a second away from the kids, and then left, doing a careful dance around the boxer to give as much berth as possible, and now Anissa was on the edge of smashing her trophy case with her office chair, her veins thrumming with confused anger. 

Not once, not a single time in their marriage, had Anissa worried about infidelity. All the trips for both their careers, the typical marital rough spots, the stress of raising two too-smart-for-their-own-good kids… She’d never  _ once _ thought Grace would do that. Until today. 

David’s handsome, sure, in that MLB-player sort of way, beefy and tall and bearded. He’s always been polite and kind, funny. He’s clearly great with the kids, and despite what he’d said at their first meeting about not being a dependable dad… she’d yet to see any issues. And now he showed up, well-kempt and attentive… was this really her life? A bad stereotype? 

It takes her fifteen full minutes to calm down enough to head back upstairs to continue wrapping presents. Grace had bought David the Apple Watch. 

_ December 17 _

After swearing her to secrecy, Anissa had shared her worries with her sister. This wasn’t just about her suspicions—it was Grace’s reputation in the family at stake, too, and she wasn’t sure after what happened with her mother that Lynn would be at all objective. Jen could be harsh, but maybe that would help make sense of the situation for Anissa. 

“I don’t know, ‘Niss…” The younger sister lets out a long breath when she’s finished laying out her case. “Your evidence is pretty weak. And what kind of sociopath would invite their ex up for a booty call  _ on Christmas?” _

Even though Jen is saying the words hypothetically, Anissa still sees red. “I’m gonna talk to him about it.”

That makes her sister’s features tighten, and Jen puts a hand on her wrist. “Absolutely not, Anissa.  _ No. _ And my answer would be the same if you were right.”

“Then what, I just sit around and keep my mouth shut?”

“How about, and maybe I’m living in some other dimension where communication isn’t a thing—you ask  _ your wife?” _

“And say what, ‘Hey, are you maybe taking the baby daddy out for another spin?’”

Jen groans, aggravated, but before she can respond, a small noise makes them both turn, and Anissa’s skin crawls with the hope that Jefferson, standing there with a plastic green cup, didn’t hear any of that exchange. The kitchen probably hadn’t been the best of locations for this conversation, she realizes now, with a moment to breathe. 

“Hey buddy,” greets Jen, shooting her sister a reproachful look before smiling down at him. “What’s up?”

“I have two more Oreos, but no milk,” he says, so matter-of-fact that Anissa can’t help but let her spine relax. 

“Let’s get you a little more then, huh?” Over her shoulder, Jen aggressively mouths  _ Talk to Grace, _ and then she opens the refrigerator door. 

_ December 18 _

The more she obsesses over her worries, the more reasons she finds to keep going. Grace  _ had _ been on the phone with David a lot more over the last few months, with no real reason. She didn’t have hard numbers, but Anissa was  _ sure _ of it. 

She tried not to think of it too much as she sent the bulky man up their ladder to hang Christmas lights on their gutters, high above the ground. David had  _ insisted _ on being helpful during his stay, so… why not? She hadn’t had time to get to it, and Grace, despite her pole dancing roots, was no good on a roof. 

When he teeters momentarily at the top, Grace laughs from behind them and calls up, “Should we get out the air mattress to catch you?”

“Only if you don’t want me swan diving into your flowers,” David shoots back, still messing with a light fixture. He gives the bulb a couple turns, and then the entire string blinks on, and the kids cheer with excitement. 

_ December 19 _

It helps when the Danvers sisters and their merry band arrive in town, offering ample distraction from Anissa’s worries. Eliza is on a singles’ cruise to Alaska, and this is the first time they’re meeting Ruby Danvers, who Alex and Sam had adopted two years earlier. She’s about Hanh’s age, but it takes a few hours for them to warm up to each other… before they’re giggling and running around the house together, mildly terrorizing Jefferson and Kara. 

The three sets of couples go out on the town that night, letting off steam while David, Jen, and Gambi manage the horde back at the house. It gives Grace and Anissa an all-too-rare opportunity to just  _ be _ together, the boxer standing with her arms around her wife’s waist as they listen to a pianist croon Christmas tunes from the bar stage while Lena, Kara, Alex, and Sam slow dance with their respective partners on the tiled floor. 

_ “...have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on, your troubles will be out of sight…”  _

The house-made hard eggnog is more pleasant than Anissa had initially expected, and the sweet flavor and heady warmth of the added brandy have her smiling through a pleasant buzz. She presses her lips to the base of her wife’s neck, inhaling the jasmine-tinged scent of her skin, and hugs Grace more tightly. The artist leans back against her chest. 

_ “...through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow…” _

“I love you so much,” Grace murmurs, turning her head towards Anissa’s nose. She squeezes the arms wrapped around her waist, as if for emphasis. 

Anissa doesn’t expect the tears suddenly stinging her eyes, but she fights them, anyway. With all her worrying, she really hadn’t been paying attention to  _ their _ relationship, and the note of affection is like aloe to a burn. She sighs and kisses her wife’s temple, rumbling in reply, “I love you, too.” 

_ December 20 _

Her insecurities come roaring back as she’s sitting with her son by their backyard fire pit. It never gets cold enough to need it in New Orleans, but Anissa likes the coziness of the smell and sight of the fire. Plus, she’s never said no to s’mores in her entire life, cutting diet or no. 

Jefferson had been a pensive kid since the day he was born, his brown-black eyes constantly studying the world around him, and he’d never met a person who wasn’t instantly his friend—which could potentially be a problem, but they were working on building at least a reasonable amount of stranger danger into him. He’s rapidly gaining on his still-petite sister’s height, but still an adorable little four-year-old, so baby-faced that Anissa has trouble believing he’ll soon be off to kindergarten. The cliché about it all going by too fast was definitely true. They didn’t want a third, as of her last discussion with Grace, but she had to admit that the thought crossed her mind with some level of seriousness more than once. 

Still, Jefferson and Hanh kept their hands full enough. After some negotiating between Jefferson wanting a spiderweb cut into his hair and Grace wanting a clean fade, the barber had put a Nike swoosh (one of his mother’s main sponsors, which made it somewhat unsettling, but he was happy) across each side of his head. He looks heartbreakingly handsome with the slightly regrown ‘do, grinning up at her while clutching his marshmallow skewer. 

“There you go—oh, it’s on fire!” 

Jefferson gasps and pulls the treat away from the flames, with Anissa’s steady hand stopping him from sending it launching across the yard like a Molotov cocktail. 

“Blow it out! One big breath, go!” Anissa laughs as he puffs on the flaming ball of sugar, getting entirely too much spit on it, but the fire goes out. “Nicely done, Jeffie.”

“S’mores!” he quickly insists, darting to the outdoor table, and Anissa follows to help him safely assemble the sticky sandwich. He begrudgingly agrees that two bars of Hersheys is sufficient, and then they return to the fire. 

The rest of the family is playing flag football in the yard, with Hanh and Ruby magically scoring on every other play, like they’re Sam Bradford and Adrian Peterson in the college years. Somehow, even though Anissa keeps hiding it from her, Hanh’s got Thunder’s 2020 Olympic Gold medal around her neck, the beveled rings glinting in the dimming evening light. 

When Anissa looks back down at her son, who has made it clear from infancy that he has no interest in sports of any kind, he’s looking back up at her with an expression akin to the physical manifestation of a question mark. “What? Why’s your face like that?”

Jefferson giggles when she pinches his chin, and his features take on a more bashful edge as he says, “Is David my dad, too?”

_ Oof. _ Anissa nearly drops her own skewer in the fire, and she has to clear her throat to gather herself for a reply. “No, buddy. He’s Hanh’s dad.”

“Then… who’s  _ my _ dad?”

The boxer’s heart cracks. She’d really, really hoped Grace would be here for this moment, but she’s not going to pawn this off, not while her young son looks so deeply confused. But, she does stop to lift him into her lap, her skewer forgotten on the ground as she wraps Jefferson in her arms. He seems to appreciate it, snuggling his head against her chest and sighing. 

“Not everyone has a mom and dad. Some people only have their mom, or just their dad, or their grandparents. Some people have two dads, and you have two moms. Me, and your Mẹ.”

When she cranes her neck to look, Jefferson’s frowning, but he doesn’t protest. 

“And no matter what, as long as you love each other, every family is a good family, okay?” The fighter kisses the top of his head, resting her cheek there. “And you have so many people who love you. Uncle Gambi, your bà nội, Dì Jen, Dượng Khalil, Aunty Malia…”

“...Aunt Lana, Ông Quang, Uncle Padman, Uncle Lala,” Jefferson continues for her, nodding solemnly. 

“And I think David loves you, too. He’s just not your dad, okay? He’s an Uncle David for you.” 

“Okay.” The kid finally smiles as he pulls back to look at her, and then he throws his little arms around her neck, kissing her cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too,” she manages around a sudden tightness in her throat, patting his back. 

_ December 21 _

The gentle trilling of birds rustles Anissa out of sleep, and she cracks open her eyes to four dancing, fluttering shadows in the light from their bedroom window. They seem to land on each of the warm bundles snuggled into bed next to her—Grace, stretched out on her side facing Anissa, with Jefferson between them, having abandoned his sleep shirt and pants sometime in the night. His face is smooshed into the artist’s belly, and the fighter might be worried for his breathing except for the corner of his mouth visible and open as he breathes deep with sleep. Hanh, who hasn’t done this in almost a year, is curled against Anissa’s other side, folded into a tiny ball in her purple pajamas. 

As host, Anissa knows she’ll need to get up and start making breakfast for the small army they’ve assembled for the holidays… but not right now. Hanh’s off school, and no one has to be anywhere but together, here, in the house Anissa and Grace built. She can enjoy her peaceful snooze a bit longer. 

_ December 22 _

The kids are watching Christmas movies in the living room, absolutely enthralled by the stop-motion bullying of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, when things start to boil over beyond what Anissa can control. She isn’t proud of it. She feels like she can’t stop herself.

David strides into the kitchen with his plate cleaned of the three fried eggs he’d had for lunch, and he dutifully rinses the dish after a greeting nod to Anissa as she cuts up vegetables in preparation for the big dinner they’d planned for Christmas Eve. 

“Hey, Anissa,” he says once he turns off the water, “Thank you again, for letting me spend the holiday with you all. I know it’s not my year to be with Hanh, but… this has been really nice.”

“Yeah? What d’you usually do, take her out to a buffet?” 

David blinks slowly, but he doesn't quite take that as rudely as Anissa knows she meant it. “My mom and dad do the holiday stuff, y’know. We just go to their place, but they’re in Taiwan this year.”

“Ah.” Anissa puts down the knife before she ends her own boxing career via accidental amputation and turns, crossing her arms as she looks at him. “So if they weren’t in the picture, would you even  _ want _ to do holidays with Hanh?”

The musician’s dark eyes flicker through the house to where the three children are sitting, and then back to the fighter. His voice lowers as he replies, “Of course I would.”

“Mm-hmm.” Alarm bells are going off in Anissa’s head, but her greater demons shout down her voice of reason as her pulse skyrockets. “And what, leave her in the van while your band plays some bar?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Finally, David’s own alerts seem to be triggering, and he puts his hands up. “If you want to talk about that, then we can, but that’s not—“

“You think I don’t see what’s happening?” the fighter charges on, “You show up here like someone put you through Queer Eye, buttering up  _ my wife?” _

“Shit dude, that is so—“

“And then on December 26, you’re gonna hop right back on a plane to your life, and I will still be here, loving your kid every day, helping her with division and making her clean her room, while you get to be the fun guy who shows up with—“

_ “Anissa.” _

The voice makes both of them freeze and straighten. The champ turns to see an unfortunate number of guests looking at them. Apparently, in her rage, she hadn’t heard the garage door opening, Grace returning from last-minute food shopping with the Danvers sisters. Kara and Alex are looking at Anissa with a mix of sympathy and worry, but Grace… Grace looks devastated. Her cheeks are bright red, and her eyes are already glinting with angry tears. 

“Grace, I…”

“I’m gonna get a hotel room for the rest of my stay,” interrupts David, looking at his shoes and ignoring Grace’s protests. He stops to offer a clipped goodbye to the kids, promising to be back later, and heads straight out the front door. 

Wordlessly, Kara and Alex quickly scramble the children upstairs, and Anissa wants to crawl under the refrigerator as Grace stares at her in furious disbelief. 

“Are you  _ kidding _ me?” hisses the artist when the silence reaches near unbearable tension. “How  _ dare _ you.”

Anissa opens and closes her mouth helplessly. 

“We agreed that we would do everything we could to help David be in Hanh’s life, for  _ her sake.” _

“I know, I know…”

“Then what  _ the fuck _ was  _ that,  _ Anissa?”

Her temper flares again, and she lifts a finger to point at the front door, “He’s trying something, I know he is. He’s trying to take you and Hanh from me, and I’m not gonna stand here and let him.”

That seems quite unexpected to Grace, whose eyebrows rise as she takes a step back. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I see it all—and you, too. Having private talks about  _ something.  _ Tell me I’m wrong.”

The artist crosses her arms, and her eyes narrow to angry slits. “You’re not wrong. We  _ have _ been talking behind your back.” 

A high-pitched ringing appears at the edge of Anissa’s hearing, and she feels like her heart falls straight to her toes. “What?”

“For  _ months,  _ we’ve been talking.” 

The fighter knows Grace well enough that a small part of her recognizes her wife’s tendency to goad when she’s upset, but the larger part of her is too far gone to give time to explore why. So she just starts snarling, “I  _ fucking _ knew it, Jesus Christ, Grace, why didn’t you say anything? Seven years, and you’re just going to throw it all away? How could you do this to me—“

“It’s not what you think,” mutters the artist, rubbing her temple.

“—and right before Christmas? What kind of sick—why would you do this to me, and Jeff? How could you—“ 

“Because David’s giving up his parental rights!” Grace throws her hands out in exasperation. “God, I  _ hate _ it when you get like this.” 

And _ that’s _ so unexpected that Anissa’s jaw snaps shut with an almost-audible click. Her mind is so confused by the abrupt change in course of the conversation that it isn’t quite able to process what the words mean. She stammers, “He… he what?”

Sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, Grace’s voice lowers again as she replies, “It was going to be your Christmas present, babe. He came up here to tell you that he’s giving up his parental rights so  _ you _ can adopt Hanh. Officially. He’ll have legal guardianship only.”

The air leaves the boxer’s lungs with the same force as an unguarded gut punch, and she has to put a hand on the wall to steady herself.  _ So you can adopt Hanh. _

The implications follow like an avalanche. No, her status as parent or legal guardian didn’t make a difference in her love for Hanh, who she was willing to die to protect since the day they met, down on the bayou. But she also remembered what it  _ meant _ to her when Lynn asked if it was okay for her to adopt Anissa, a few years after bringing her home from the system. The way it felt to know she had a permanent place in Lynn’s house, to know that she hadn’t lost her chance for family after her mother died. 

Grace knew, too.  _ That’s _ why this was supposed to be a present for Anissa, to whom it would mean so much… 

And this whole time, she’s been nothing short of a fucking asshole about it. 

_ December 23 _

Around one a.m. and after pulling some strings, Anissa finds David Shi at the bar of a Holiday Inn, staring into empty shot glasses with hazy eyes. 

“Two more of what he’s having, please,” the fighter says when she sits next to him, keeping a respectful distance. He doesn’t even look up. 

“Two Wild Turkeys, champ,” grunts the bartender, setting the shots in front of her. “On the house.” 

Sliding one over to David, Anissa reluctantly shoots the drink and winces as it burns down her throat, then waits. There’s college football on the TV above the bar, and about three minutes of play clock wind down before David reaches over and accepts the shot, hissing after he knocks it back. 

“Grace told you?” he asks, quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Well. Merry freakin’ Christmas.”

The boxer sighs, feeling ashamed down to her bones. “I’m sorry, D. I’m  _ really _ sorry. I have not been acting right since you got off the plane, and what I said before… that was uncalled for. I know you take great care of Hanh.”

The musician finally looks over at her, but his expression is inscrutable. “That type of thing is exactly what makes me afraid to do this. I don’t want to lose my daughter, either.”

“You won’t,” Anissa says quickly, with conviction. “I’m sorry, and I understand why you’d be freaked out. I made a mistake… and I won’t make it again.” 

David waves down the bartender for another round. “I get it. You want to protect what you love.”

“The kids love you, and… I had a hard time with that.” They pause long enough for the shots. “And I really am sorry. Whether or not you were gonna… you know.” 

They spend the rest of the game’s second quarter in companionable silence, and when David goes on during halftime, he keeps his eyes on the screen: “I know we never got the chance to talk about this, but… you know, I came to the hospital, after the Supergirl fight?”

Anissa tilts her head, trying to scan her shoddy memories of that chaotic time for his face and voice. “Honestly, no. I’m sorry, there was so much going on—“

“Pierce, I  _ saw _ the way your face looked. It’s fine, that’s not why I bring it up,” laughs David, shaking his head. “It’s just, I remember seeing the hit, and my first thought was that I hoped Hanh would never see that clip in her life… because I know how much my girl loves you. And how good you’ve been to her. I was afraid for her to lose you.” 

His tone’s dropped to a warm rumble, and Anissa has to let out a low breath to fight against the tug of emotion behind her eyes. 

“And I sat in the waiting room with her on my lap, and I… I was crying with my kid about you. Her life would be worse without you. Hanh makes  _ us _ family.”

It’s no use. Anissa has to wipe at runaway tears, her eyes glued to the TV. The stubbornness is protective for the both of them, and as long as this conversation keeps going well, she’s willing to stick with the shortcuts. 

“So, I thought about it, and I asked lawyers, and I talked to Grace. That’s why she’s been on the phone with me so much, why we’ve been talking when you’re not there.” David finishes the rest of his beer and deftly pops open another. “And maybe some people think I’m crazy, but… I trust you with my whole heart, because I trust you with Hanh. No piece of paper will change the fact that I’m her dad, but we can make sure the system, where this all really matters,  _ knows _ you’re her mom, too.”

The first sob breaks through Anissa’s chest, and without another word, they turn and embrace each other. The fighter just hopes he knows the depth of her gratitude is beyond description. 

_ Christmas Eve _

The Washington-Choi house smells like cinnamon and savory spices as the gathered friends and family sit at their long dinner table. There’s a mix of traditional Thanksgiving food amongst Vietnamese favorites—white rice and eggrolls near the cranberry sauce, short ribs by the whole turkey (just one, but a  _ big _ bird), bowls of fish sauce accompanying gravy boats here and there. 

Knowing how much Kara likes them, Grace had rolled ten shrimp spring rolls for the heavyweight boxer, no mint, and the blonde had about eight of them to herself before Anissa witnessed her son con Kara out of the last two with big, puppy dog eyes. 

Bingo gets plain turkey breast, rice, and one small slice of ham for his feast, which he devours in seconds before shuffling over to beg at Alex Danvers’ feet. She was a reliable pushover after a couple glasses of wine, he knew.

After the meal, they gather for a picture—or try to, as even figuring out how to fit everyone in one frame is a mild challenge. 

Ultimately, Anissa and Grace are seated on the loveseat in the center of the frame, their two kids haphazardly piled between them, giggling and being generally rambunctious together. Jen sits on the arm of the chair nearest Anissa, with Lynn standing behind and between them and Khalil to her side. Quang stands next to the chair on Grace’s side, with David behind them in a Santa outfit. Kara, Lena, Alex, Ruby, and Sam sit on the rug in front, wearing matching Christmas onesies and hats with elf ears. Everyone else had  _ politely _ declined the outfits. 

“All right, all right!” Gambi’s trying to shout over the din, waving his hands behind the camera on a tripod. “Keep it together for  _ three _ seconds! That’s all we need.”

“Hanh’s pinching me!” whines Jefferson through a wheezing laugh.

“Sam’s pinching me!” echoes Alex around a laugh, and Kara punches her on the shoulder.

“Hands to ourselves, kids.” Anissa gives her daughter The Look, and Hanh just grins mischievously back at her, but obediently folds her hands into her lap. Kara does, too, when Anissa’s reproachful eyes find her blue ones. 

“I’m hitting the button!” yells Gambi, exasperated, before hurrying around the group to his spot between David and Lynn. 

As the orange light blink down the final moments, Anissa adds, “Say, ‘Aunt Kara smells like feet!’”

It takes the heavyweight champ another beat to register it, but she’s too late as the group recites the line, and the picture features Kara turned to look over her shoulder, a clearly affronted look on her face, and Anissa’s smile wide with laughter. Alex is rolling her eyes, and both kids are actually smiling, with Lynn mid-bringing a hand to her mouth, clearly to cover her own chuckle. Grace is looking at Anissa with affectionate annoyance, their hands clasped together on the back of the couch. 

“Perfect,” confirms Anissa when she looks back through the memory card with Gambi. “All right—presents!”

“Presents!” shrieks Hanh, who’d had entirely too much pumpkin pie, as the children snatch up the nearest brightly-wrapped box with their name on it. 

Grace pinches her backside when everyone’s attention turns to Ruby ripping open the first gift, and Anissa returns the favor by pulling the artist into her arms, nipping at her cheek before slowing down to a kiss. She brushes a lock of hair behind Grace’s ear, falling in love with her stunning wife for the millionth time at the streaks of white signaling the time they’ve shared. “Merry Christmas.” 

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr [@trashyeggroll](https://trashyeggroll.tumblr.com/)


End file.
